Harvest Moon

by Rochelle Alers

  “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  “I used to wake up screaming, and it would take hours before the household would settle down after each episode. I stopped visiting my cousins because I didn’t want them to know that I was afraid to sleep without a light on in the room. My parents sent me to a psychiatrist, who prescribed a very mild tranquilizer to help me sleep.”

  “I don’t advocate medicating children.”

  “My father shares a similar belief. He took me to a prominent child psychologist who helped me work through most of my anxiety. I joined the drama club when I entered junior high school and found a way to escape completely. On stage and in character I did not have to be Regina Cole, but could be anyone I chose to be.”

  “Are you saying that acting became a form of therapy for you?”

  “It was my therapy. As Regina I was always looking over my shoulder, wondering who was following me. But on stage I was Hamlet’s Ophelia or Othello’s Desdemona, with nothing to fear except the audience’s reaction to my performance.”

  Sighing, she closed her eyes, feeling safer than she ever had in her life. She’d relived the entire ordeal in her head, and she was no longer afraid to allow the images to surface. They came back, rushing through her mind like frames of film—the suffocating darkness, the blind humiliation of someone watching her relieve herself, and the macabre laugh whenever the food shoved into her mouth dribbled down her chin onto her soiled clothing. She had slept in the small, dark space with only the smell of her unwashed body to remind her that she still lived.

  “You’re safe now, Princesa.”

  Smiling, she nodded against his chest. “I know, Aaron.”

  They lay together, their breathing deepening until they fell asleep, entwined in each other’s arms.

  Regina woke up in complete darkness, her heart racing. She was wrong. The demons hadn’t left. They had vanished when she related her abduction and captivity to Aaron, but once the lights were extinguished they’d come back like a silent, creeping fog blanketing her sanity. The humming began, low and seductive until it grew louder and louder, becoming hysterical screams which sounded like someone being tortured.

  “Help her,” she pleaded as tears flooded her eyes and stained her cheeks. “Oh, please help her. Don’t leave her to die in there.”

  Aaron came awake immediately. He sat up, reaching out for Regina, who thrashed wildly on the bed. Holding her firmly against his body, he pressed his mouth to her ear.

  “They’re gone, Regina,” he crooned. “They can’t hurt you.”

  “They—they’re still here.” She sobbed uncontrollably. “They want to kill me.”

  Stroking her hair, he shook his head. “No, Baby. They can’t get you because I won’t let them. Didn’t I promise to protect you?”

  Regina heard the man’s deep, soothing voice and the demons fled, leaving her in peace. The voice sounded familiar. At first she thought it was her father’s, but it did not have the soft, drawling cadence that identified Martin Cole was from the southern region of the United States. This voice was more nasal, claiming a midwest twang. As a drama student she had studied accents and regional dialects, and there was a time when she could identify the country or region of anyone who opened their mouths to speak.

  She inhaled deeply, identifying the now familiar cologne worn by Aaron Spencer. Then she remembered. She was in Aaron’s bedroom, and in his bed.

  “Aaron.” His name came out in a long, shuddering whisper.

  “I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m here for you.”

  “Turn on the light.”

  He continued stroking her hair, his hand moving over the curls spiraling around his fingers. “No, Baby.”

  Her breathing quickened. “Please.” She managed to swallow a sob.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to you in the dark.”

  “Take me back to my room.” There was no mistaking her rising anxiety as her trembling voice broke.

  “No. You’re going to spend the night with me, and when the sun comes up you’ll realize—”

  “Take me back now!” she shouted, interrupting him.

  Aaron tightened his hold on her waist as she tried escaping his grip. “No, Regina.”

  Her right hand came up, but he was too quick for her. His fingers caught her wrist, holding her with a minimal of effort. “Don’t fight with me,” he warned between clenched teeth. “I promised you I would take care of you, and I will,” he continued, this time in a softer voice. “I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you.” He felt some of the rigidness leave her limbs. “My father protected you and, like him, I’ll also protect you. You trusted Oscar, didn’t you?”

  Biting down on her lower lip, she nodded. After a pause, she said, “Yes.”

  “I’m his son, Princesa. Blood of his blood and flesh of his flesh. And I’ve taken an oath that I will protect you the same way he did when he was alive. If I never ask anything of you, I’m going to ask that you trust me.”

  Regina half-listened to Aaron as she struggled with the lingering vestiges of her fear. How could she vanquish seventeen years of fear in one night? Could she actually trust Aaron to protect her from her unseen enemies? He could not spend the rest of his life looking after her. He had promised to remain in Mexico with her until she left for the States, but had he hoped he could help eradicate the fears she had carried for more than half her life in less than a month? What did he intend to do—sleep with her every night?

  She could demand that he let her return to her bedroom, but something told her Aaron Spencer would not relent. He was determined to force her to remain in his bed, and in the darkened bedroom.

  Going completely pliant in his arms, she curved her body into his. “I’ll try.”

  He let out an audible sigh. “Thank you.”

  They lay together, monitoring each other’s heat and respiration. Aaron had removed only his shoes, but Regina felt every muscle of his body as if he were completely nude. Lying in his embrace made her aware of the solid hardness of his chest and thighs, the power in his upper arms, and the unleashed strength in his large hands.

  What was she doing? She was sharing a bed with a man whom she desired from the moment she saw him. There was something so subtly virile about Aaron Spencer that the times she caught herself staring at him she found it difficult to draw a normal breath.

  Whenever he caught her staring, he did not look away but returned it boldly with one of his own. She had come to look for the intensity in his dark, deep-set, slanting eyes, wondering what was he thinking. And she did wonder if he knew how much she wanted him, and that the wanting was of a physical nature.

  Resting her head on his thick shoulder, she closed her eyes. The demons had finally left her, and in their place was a deep, silent longing to know what it was that made her crave the man holding her to his heart.

  Her breathing deepened in a slow, measured rhythm, belaying the rush of desire racing headlong throughout her body as the realization washed over her again that she wanted Aaron to make love to her. She wanted him to introduce her to a world of passion she had never known.

  She had never known or glimpsed passion—not even when her two movie roles called for on-screen lovemaking with handsome and very popular male costars.

  Turning to her right, she pressed a light kiss at the side of his strong mouth, eliciting a slight intake of breath from him. “Thank you for being here for me.”

  Aaron smiled, lowering his head until his lips were inches from hers. “You’re very welcome,” he murmured seconds before his mouth closed over hers.

  What had begun as a gentle brushing of lips deepened until Aaron moved over her body, pressing her down to the mattress so that there was a sweet, deep intimacy to their kiss.

  He felt the blood pool in his groin, and knew he was lost. The desire he had fought from the instant he saw Regina Cole-Spencer exploded uncontrollably until he was shaking from the passion, struggling not to erupt and embarrass
himself. He did not want to pour out his passions on the bed, but inside of the woman writhing under him.

  Pulling back, he buried his face in her unbound hair, which spread out on the pillow in a cascade of black, silken curls. “Princesa,” he groaned as if in pain.

  “Aaron?” She answered his groan with her own moan.

  “I don’t want to take advantage of you. Tell me now if you want to take this further.”

  Her breath was coming faster. “And if I say I don’t?”

  “Then I’ll stop.”

  A haze of passion swept over Regina, her mind reeling in confusion. Her body wanted Aaron, needed him, while she knew it was wrong to remain in his arms and in his bed. Could she sleep with him in the dark and not experience guilt in the full sunlight? Could she successfully affect indifference after sleeping with him when it came time for her to leave Mexico? What was it about Aaron Spencer that made her so wanton and so reckless? She knew the answers to all of her questions would come from offering herself to him.

  Aaron did not want to stop. He wanted to take off her clothes, then his own, and feast on her body like a man dying of hunger and thirst. Making love to her would right all of the wrongs, heal all of the wounds, reconcile his past with his present.

  She’s your father’s widow, a silent voice reminded him. She might be Oscar’s widow, but Regina Spencer was the woman he had fallen in love with—the woman who had bewitched him, the woman who challenged him to his face, and still he wanted and desired her, the woman who warned him that whatever they might share in Mexico would become a part of their past and remain their past.

  He cradled her face gently between his large hands. “What is it going to be?” he whispered against her parted lips. “Yes or no?”

  Regina closed her eyes, knowing he couldn’t see her expression in the darkness. The heat flooding her breasts increased, sweeping down and settling between her thighs while bringing a fiery heat that made it impossible for her to remain motionless. At the same time, she felt Aaron’s surging hardness throbbing against her thighs. It was too late. Too late for her retreat. It was too late for both of them.

  “Yes!” she gasped.

  She wasn’t certain of what was happening as everything fused into a slow-moving act which made her feel as if she were an observer instead of a participant.

  Aaron left the bed and removed his clothes, she listening to the whisper of fabric grazing his skin as he took off his shirt, slacks, and briefs. He returned to the bed, the heat of his muscled physique enveloping her when he relieved her of the dress and the delicate scrap of silk concealing her virginal body.

  She hadn’t realized that she had been holding her breath until after he had pulled her into a tender embrace where her nakedness touched his, making her aware of how different their bodies were.

  “Aaron?” Her voice was soft, tentative.

  “Yes, Princesa?”

  Swallowing several times to relieve the sudden dryness in her throat, she wondered how was she going to tell him that it was her first time, that she had never shared her body with a man.

  “You’re going to have to help me with this.” Her fingers were splayed over his chest. “You’re going to have to show me how to please you.”

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead, smiling. “You don’t have to do anything. You please me because I’m here with you. You please me just by existing.”

  That was not what she meant, but he did not give her the opportunity to explain herself when he took possession of her mouth in a slow, drugging kiss that elicited a rush of moisture between her thighs. She squeezed them together to stop the pulsing, but to no avail. His mouth moved lower, to her breasts, and she was lost, lost in a maelstrom of desire which set her aflame with a surge of desire that shattered her dammed-up sexuality.

  Regina had tried many times to imagine a man actually making love to her, and failed miserably. When she had executed her love scenes in Silent Witness, Oscar had outlined explicitly what he wanted from her and her costar. She had enacted the scenes like the professional she had been trained to be, but she had felt none of the responses Aaron now wrung from her.

  The heat from his mouth swept from her own mouth to her core. Waves of passion shook her until she could not stop her legs from shaking. He suckled her breasts, worshiping them, and the moans she sought to suppress escaped her parted lips.

  His tongue circled her nipples, leaving them hard, erect, and throbbing. His teeth tightened on the turgid tips, and she felt a violent spasm grip her womb.

  Her fingers were entwined in the cotton sheets, tightening and ripping them from their fastenings at the same time she arched up off the mattress.

  “Aaron!” His name exploded from her mouth as he inched down her body, holding her hips to still their thrashing. Shame replaced her passion when she realized where he had buried his face. “Stop! Please!”

  But he did not stop. His hot breath seared the tangled curls between her thighs and she went limp, unable to protest or think of anything except the pleasure her lover offered her. She registered a series of breathless sighs, not realizing they were her own moans of physical satisfaction. Eyes closed, head thrown back, lips parted, back arched, she reveled in the sensations that took her beyond herself.

  Then it began, rippling little tremors increasing and shaking her uncontrollably and becoming more volatile when it sought a route of escape.

  Aaron heard her breath come in long, surrendering moans, and he moved quickly up her trembling limbs and eased his sex into her body. He was met with a resistance he hadn’t expected. Gritting his teeth, he feared spilling his passion onto the sheets. He drew back, and with a strong, sure thrust of his hips buried his hardness in the hot, moist, tight flesh pulsing around his own.

  Regina caught and held her breath, feeling if she had been impaled on a red-hot piece of steel when Aaron penetrated her virginal flesh, but the burning subsided the moment he began moving in a slow, measured rhythm, quickly renewing her passion.

  Her arms curved around his waist as rivulets of moisture bathed his back and dotted her hands. She could not think of anything or anyone except the hard body atop hers as their bodies found and set a rhythm where they were in perfect harmony with each other.

  Reaching down, Aaron cupped her hips in his hands, lifting her higher and permitting deeper penetration; he quickened his movements. Regina assisted him, increasing her own pleasure as she wound her legs around his waist.

  Aaron’s heat, hardness, and carnal sensuality had awakened the dormant sexuality of her body, and she responded to the seduction of his passion as hers rose higher and higher until it exploded in an awesome, vibrating liquid fire that scorched her mind and left her convulsing in ecstasy.

  She hadn’t quite returned from her own free-fall flight when she heard Aaron’s groan of satisfaction against her ear as he quickened his movements and then collapsed heavily on her sated form. There was only the sound of their labored breathing in the stillness of the bedroom as they lay motionless, savoring the aftermath of a shared, sweet fulfillment.

  He reversed their positions, bringing her with him until she lay sprawled over his body, her legs resting between his. “Did I hurt you, Princesa?”

  “No,” she drawled, placing tiny kisses on his throat and over his shoulder. There had been pain, but it was offset by the pleasure he had offered her.

  “I hadn’t expected you to be so small,” he murmured in the cloud of curly hair flowing over his face. “I—”

  She stopped his words when she placed her fingertips over his lips. “I’m all right, Aaron.”

  His right hand moved over her bare hip, caressing the silken flesh. She had no idea how sensuous her voice sounded in the dark. He drew in a deep breath, luxuriating in the intoxicating fragrance of her perfume mingling with the lingering scent of their lovemaking.

  He could not believe the passion she had aroused in him; if possible, he had wanted to make love to her all through the night. Inhalin
g her scent, tasting her flesh, caressing her silken body, had tested the limits of his control. He smiled, knowing there was the possibility that he would make love to her many more times before they left Mexico. He did not want to think about her leaving, even though she had promised to come to Bahia.

  If she did not come to him, then he would come for her. Now that Regina Cole-Spencer had become a part of his existence, he had no intention of letting her walk out of his life.

  Chapter 13

  Regina turned over, encountering an immovable bulk, and woke up. Realization dawned as she stared up at Aaron staring down at her. A gentle smile softened her lush mouth.

  “¡Buenos dias!” she whispered shyly.

  Slanting eyes crinkling attractively, he returned her smile. “Bom dia,” he replied in Portuguese. Shifting to his side, he placed an arm over her flat middle, pulling her closer. “How do you feel?” he continued in English.

  She shrugged a slender shoulder. “Okay.”

  He arched a sweeping eyebrow. “Just okay?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  His expression sobered as he glared at her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”

  When he awoke earlier that morning he had noticed the dark-red stains on the sheet. He had felt as if someone had punched him in his gut once he realized the woman sharing his bed had given him the most precious gift any woman could offer a man. His eyes clung to hers, analyzing her reaction to his accusation. He should not have been surprised when she did not flinch or glance away.

  “I tried to tell you,” she argued softly.

  He frowned. “You didn’t try hard enough.”

  “But I did. I asked for your help.”

  “Asking for help is not the same as saying that you’d never slept with a man.” She lowered her gaze and stared at his smooth, bare chest. “You were married for eight years, Princesa.”